“I’m so happy to see you.” Kamari switched on a smile like anastralamp, rehearsed and polished, and her mother’s eyes softened as she retook her seat. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, during a storm season no less?”
Nev’s eyes bore into her, like she was trying to read through the forced politeness. Trepidation rose in the room like a wave of sand during a storm, burying her, clawing up her throat, suffocating her.
“We were sent word on your husband’s disappearance,” her father said, breaking the silence. “Albeit, we were a bit surprised the word didn’t come directly fromyou.”
Tea was brought to the table and poured. A scattering of puffed pastries and dried fruit that neither she nor her parents reached for.
It was true, she hadn’t sent word to her parents of Desmond’s disappearance. How would it look to them, she wondered, if they realized the one duty she was bred and raised for, she’d failed at?
“I’m sorry I didn’t write,” she said. “I’ve been busy. There’s been so much going on the closer we get to Naming Day, it slipped my mind.” Truthfully because of the attack on the wall and the attempted kidnapping, she hadn’t thought of Naming Day much at all and now that the words were out of her mouth, they tasted like ash.
If Desmond didn’t return, she would be forced to partake in the ceremony alone. Watch as one of her own people was chosen to give their life to Celestria. To fill their wells ofastraand water.She waited for them to ask how she was handling Desmond’s disappearance, how she was handling the move to Vargah.
But her father’s dark eyes studied her from across the room. A stare she knew well. A stare that told her, he was not here for a visit out of concern for his daughter. Wordlessly, her father waved a hand forward and Raffe joined them, taking a seat to Kamari’s right, as if he conjured himself straight from the shadows.
“King Godrick, Queen Marta,” he said, helping himself to a powdered pastry before directing his attention to her parents. “My parents will be pleased you got their letter.”
Kamari’s eyes widened, her gaze darting between her parents and Raffe. He shot her a pained look, as if he was also a subject of his parents control.“Make them believe we’re cordial,”he’d whispered before they left the temple that day.“Make them believe there’s nothing to worry about.”
She could do that.
She could pretend, even now with her parents a few feet away.
She’d done it before, made people see what they wanted. In fact, she could be so convincing that nothing was wrong that oftentimes no one ever asked. Because they believed they already knew how she was.
Kamari, the bright star.
So polite compared to your sister.
So well mannered.
So happy.
“There are plans in place for the unfortunate circumstance that King Desmond doesn’t find his way home.” Raffe’s words broke Kamari out of her fog.
“There’s still a few weeks left,” she said. “The council allowed a month for His Majesty’s return.”
Flames rose to her father’s cheeks, his thick graying brows furrowing above deep, green eyes. “Even a week without a Vargahian heir on the throne is a week too long. Do you have any idea what the people of Novaria would do if they knew the king has left you?” The words lashed against Kamari’s already raw skin.
Left you.
“They would tear the treaty in two. Another war would be on our doorstep before you could finish lunch.”
“Godrick—” Her father waved her mother off, silencing her.
“Enough, Marta.” He turned his attention back to Kamari. “I hear Raffe has offered a solution to our problem. Toyourproblem.” He pointed a thick, ringed finger at her. “You will accept and I’ll hear nothing else of it.”
She fought a flinch against his tone, moments of her childhood flashed behind her eyes like lightning striking the sky. Quick and then gone. Though her father’s anger was typically pointed at Aesira, none of the Zeliath children grew up unmarked by his unattainable standard of perfection and the wrath that came with not achieving it.
“There are traditions.” Her heart was a needle in her chest, stitching and stabbing against her ribs, but she thought of the painting in her room. The weeks it took to marry Desmond. At the time, she wanted to discard the customs and take him there in the temple, but now… She reached for her teacup and took a long sip. Now, she could use these traditions to her advantage, buying her the extra time Aesira would need to get Desmond home.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Lord Raffe,” she said, “but aren’t marriage customs in Vargah quite sacred? I’m sure your parents would not be pleased to see them brushed aside as their eldest son inherits a throne.”
Raffe dabbed his moustache, his eyes caught between her and her father. “There are traditions,” he said after a thick swallow. “Public appearances, sometimes counseling with the High Priestess.”
Her father’s sigh filled the room. “Fine,” he said. “Whatever must be carried through to see to it you’re rightfully wed, do them.” He pointed that same finger at Kamari again, his cheeks still tinged red. “It starts now and I won’t hear a word about it.”
She slid her smile back on, gave her father just what he needed to see, complete complacency. “Yes, Father.”
